


Homecoming

by havens



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Pelican Town - Freeform, Slice of Life, high school to the present, short flashes of life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-09-28 18:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20430398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havens/pseuds/havens
Summary: Emily and Shane have known each other their whole lives, but never really seem to have much in common. After high school, each face challenges that end up putting them in similar situations in the same town they grew up in.tl,dr: short stories following emily and shane from high school to when the game takes place!





	1. The Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> the emily/shane pairing never really made sense to me, so i started thinking about backstories to set them up. this is the result! it'll be probably 5 short chapters highlighting key moments in their life leading up to where they are in the game: home, working in jobs they don't like. it's pretty fun to write!
> 
> psa: characters/locations belong to ConcernedApe :)

Shane’s not even sure what he’s doing here. It’s totally not his scene – the basement of some art kid from school with drugs he hasn’t even heard of. His letterman jacket sticks out like a sore thumb amidst the thrifted clothes and torn jeans. “Hey, man, I’m gonna go see if there’s something to drink in the kitchen.”

His friend is only half listening; his full attention is on the chick who invited them, his hand tracing careful circles on her waist. “Yeah, yeah. Just be quiet. Don’t want to wake her parents.”

Parents. What a trip. He can’t remember the last time he’s been to a party with parents in the house. Freshman year? Sophomore? There’s a reason he avoids the non-jocks, avoids parties where the parents aren’t away somewhere expensive and far. God, he feels like a prick for thinking that. Maybe he's washed up already.

It feels like he’s breaking into the house when he walks upstairs. With the basement door closed the party is a whisper behind him, the thick, old wood muffling the noise. The kitchen is pristine, all white tile and granite countertops, gleaming in the fluorescent lighting. It feels sterile, almost like a hospital room.

If he focuses hard enough, he thinks he can make out the sound of someone snoring. Family photos are pinned to the fridge, glaring at him as he opens it. A quick perusal later and there's a can of something alcoholic in his hand.

He’s back down as soon as he can get there, chugging half of the beer he snagged from the fridge. It would be hoppy if it wasn’t so bland, the herby, earthiness of it lost to the bitter. It feels almost murky under the house like that; like the upper floor and the basement are on two different planes of reality. The carpet down here is old, ratty, the lighting so dim he can barely see the faces of people around him. The sky is murky with incense, pot, and god knows what else. It’s all feeling like a lot, like maybe a little too much.

Half the party’s gathered around a TV, showing some weird psychedelic animated movie. It’s all colors and music, just lines and shapes and it gives Shane a headache just looking on it. A girl on the couch passes around a baggie of shrooms. He thinks he's seen her before– maybe in his lit class? His eyes are restless, searching the room for a familiar face. There’s only one: Chris, and his tongue is now down the girl's throat, this chick Sandy he’d been seeing for a while. She was hot, Shane would give him that, curvy in all the right places with a shock of bright red hair so long it almost hit her ass. It doesn't settle right: him and Chris, here with these people. Chris fitting in. Him standing out.

Shane finds his way to the bathroom, and it’s frat-house level grimy. He wonders if Sandy’s parents ever come down here or if they just leave her be. His reflection watches him and he stares at it a bit too long, until it stops looking familiar.

He cracks the only window in the room, so high up he has to stretch to get his face close. His breaths are deep, needy. The air is cool outside and feels good against his flushed cheeks.

Someone bangs on the door. As soon as it opens, a girl is stumbling in, making a beeline for the toilet. He hasn’t even closed it behind him before she’s retching.

“Someone needs to manage their liquor better.” The voice is high, lilting. Shane peers around, notices a bolt of blue hair about a head lower than his. He knows the girl, has seen her around school, though they don’t really run in the same circles. Vaguely, he recognizes her as one of the art kids who smokes pot under the big, old oak tree on the quad.

“Yeah.” The beer he had earlier churns in his stomach. This close to her he can see that she’s dyed her hair herself; there are chunks of bleached blonde sticking out where she didn’t rub the dye, pieces darker or lighter than the others. The skin along her hairline is blue too, like she had finger painted her scalp.

She sticks out her hand to him. Her nose ring glints in the dim lighting. “I’m Emily.”

He takes her hand, shakes it. “Shane.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I know.”

Shane had followed Emily into what he had to assume was Sandy’s bedroom. It’s got dim, red lights and all kind of weird art on the walls, colorful and pornographic. There’s a portrait of Emily naked, water droplets rolling off her bare breasts and shimmering like diamonds, her back arched, pushing her hips toward the sky. Her hipbones look like the mountains bookending the valley. “Sandy did that last month. It’s wicked, right?”

Shane swallows. “Right.” She laughs, and when her mouth opens Shane sees a flash of something metal.

She’s got a whole thing rigged up in here: patchouli incense lit, a bottle of vodka, pen and paper, and a stick-and-poke. “I’ve been giving out tattoos all night. Sandy wanted something new at this party. I'm not so sure she just didn't want people to fuck on her bed.” She’s sat down on the bed and Shane is still standing by the door, wide-eyed, ready to bolt. “Do you want one?”

Did he? His mind was racing so hard it was almost numb. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure.”

“Awesome.” Emily wrapped her hand around the neck of the bottle. Stacks of rings reflected the red lighting. Emily's different in a way he's not used to: cool and metal. “Take a shot. Or two.”

“No numbing cream?” He settled on the bed next to her.

“Nah. I'm a bit of a minimalist.” That's hard to believe as Shane watches her remove her rings one by one, places them haphazardly on the floor. Nothing about this girl seems minimal, except the number of fucks she gives. “Now what do you want?”

It’s over before it really hit him, the skin stinging a bit in the aftermath. It’s small, neat, tucked away just under the collar of his t-shirt. The number three; his gridball number, the number of people in his family: him, his brother, his mom. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem.” They’re sitting close, Emily’s thigh is pressed up along his and he can feel it there, warm and solid. The painting of her is so close, the color of her pert nipples burned into his head. He’s rattling off gridball statistics, wishing away the feverish longing building in his stomach. But with her right there next to him, batting those long, dark eyelashes, licking those full, pink lips, it’s going to take a lot more that scores and times to keep his mind occupied. It's taken him by surprise; she's far from his type, so far that he's shocked he even sees her.

“You’re really beautiful,” Emily says. Shane is sure he’s dreaming. “Jocks aren’t usually my type, but I think tonight, with you, I’d make an exception.”

She’s on him before he can even finish thinking.


	2. An American (Almost) in Paris

“Emi, do you have to go?”

Emily’s deftly packing, carefully folding bolts of fabric and pieces of clothing into her duffle bag. It’s almost a mess: reds and yellows and blues, velvet and chiffon and silk. Emily thinks it looks like a masterpiece. “I’m sorry, Hales. I’ll be back for Winter Feast, though.”

Haley pouts, her eyes big, blue saucers. She’s still used to getting her way, just a look and she has their parents melting. It won’t work on Emily, though. “But I’m going to miss you.”

Emily zips her bag shut, stands. She pulls Haley up off of the bed, wraps her tightly in her arms. “I’ll miss you too, _Mon cœur_.”

Haley wrinkles her nose at this. “I hate when you say things in French.” She hugs her sister tighter, presses more closely to her. Her voice is muffled into Emily’s shoulder. “France is already taking you away from me.”

“Haley.” Emily pulls away from Haley, hands on both her shoulders. She stares at her, hard in the eyes. “No one can _ever_ take me away from you, okay? We’ll never be apart for too long.” Emily sits down on the bed, pulls Haley down next to her. Emily nudges her in the side and says, “And you can come visit me! We’ll drink fabulous wine and eat fabulous food and look at fabulous men and women.”

This sends Haley into a fit of giggles. “Okay. Promise?”

Emily’s heart hurts, looking at Haley, so earnest and innocent. “Promise.”

Emily’s in bed, curled up under her comforter, too excited to sleep. She’s watching the clock as her chance to sleep withers away. _If I fall asleep right now, I can get in 5 hours…_

Her door creaks open, a stream of light streaking across her floor through the crack. Haley peeks her head in. “Emily?”

“Yeah, Hales?”

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

Emily laughs, opens up her blanket. Haley skitters to the bed, curls up under the covers and into Emily’s arm. They are pressed close together, Haley’s back to Emily’s chest. Haley used to sleep in Emily’s room all the time when she was younger; her big sister was the only one who could soothe her after a nightmare.

“So, where are you going first?” Haley asks, her voice a whisper.

Emily tightens her hold around her sister’s waist. “Well, my classes don’t start for another month. So I’m going to do some backpacking first. Starting in London.”

“London must be nice.” Haley rolls over, faces her sister. Their foreheads are touching, and Haley’s breath is still minty from her toothpaste. “There are lots of cute boys in London.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep.” Haley pops the ‘p’. “There are a lot of boy bands who come from London and they’re all _totally_ cute.”

“You’re probably right. From London, I’m headed to Amsterdam. I’ll be sure to send a postcard.”

“Really! I love getting mail.”

They chat for a while and Haley’s asleep quickly. Emily wants to cry. She presses her lips to the soft, downy hair at Haley’s temple. Her sweet little sister, growing up before her eyes. She finds it hard to believe Haley’s going to be entering her first year of high school. Emily wants to be there to talk love, to give her advice. But she wants to leave, too. She’s been counting down the days, crossing off dates in her calendar for four years now.

Her heart pounds, so loud she’s sure the whole house can hear it, maybe even the whole town. She’s finally leaving. Tomorrow.

It’s early. So early.

Emily’s wide awake. She’s sure she slept for at least a few moments, though she doesn’t remember doing so. She’s careful getting dressed, pulling on her stockings slowly, slipping rings on her fingers and necklaces over her head. It’ll take her twenty minutes to unload before the metal detector, but she likes the weight of jewelry. It makes her feel tethered, connected.

She fingers a few photos she’s got pinned up on her wall: her and Sandy, mostly. Some of her and Haley, her and her parents. There’s one of her and Sandy at a football game, posing with the school mascot. In the back, there are a few football players and when she squints, she can make out Shane’s jaw, the slope of his nose. She feels flushed, her cheeks pink.

It was a one-time thing, she reminds herself. He’s off to college to play gridball and she’s off to Europe. If there had been a superlative for ‘most likely to get the hell out of the Valley’ they both would have won it.

She’s got her duffle bag slung over her shoulder, a fanny pack strapped to her waist and a scarf tied into her hair. The bottoms of her earrings brush on her shoulders.

She creeps up the stairs to her parents’ room, knocks on their door. She stands in the hallway waiting, watching the swirls in the old oak door. There’s one at eye level that looks like Jupiter’s eye. No answer.

She decides to open it. The knob is cold to the touch and she feels a creeping sense of dread. She’s holding the knob, not opening the door, acutely aware of her own breathing, the rush of blood through her veins. When she opens it, her parents bed is made. Empty.

She can’t hear anything. Not her feet as they thud down the stairs, not her duffle bag as it hits the floor. Not the crinkle of paper as she unfolds the note on the table.

_ Dear Emily,_

_ We know you had plans to leave today, which is why we left this note. We’ve been planning quite a big trip. We aren’t sure when we’ll be back. We’ve taken care of and loved you girls for so many years that we wanted to take some time to ourselves. We’ve left money in our room along with a credit card for food and such. It’s your turn to help out the family, Emi. We'll be sure to send mail._

_ We’ve also included a graduation gift! Happy graduation, Emi!_

_ Love you,_

_ Mom and Dad_

Emily’s been in the kitchen for a while. Her flight left twenty minutes ago and her tea went cold between her fingers. Some cash, a house, and a little sister to take care of. These are the things her parents gifted her with. Her friends got cars, vacations, college tuitions paid for.

Part of her had wanted to leave. Selfishly, she had dropped the note, picked up her duffle bag and gotten into her car. She had even turned it on. She adjusted the rearview mirror, settled in. She could feel her stomach churning, had told herself it was just nerves. But then she looked at the front door and thought of Haley, curled in still-warm bed sheets, alone in that house. She turned off the car and went back inside. Hung up her coat by the door.

She’s still staring at her tea, over-steeped and no longer steaming. She had taken down pictures of their parents as soon as she was back inside. Stockpiled all their shit on their bed in anger, so mad to see any trace of them there.

She goes into her room, climbs back into bed next to Haley and closes her eyes.


	3. Bottomed Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shane hits rock bottom

“Shane, are you listening?”

He isn’t.

His advisor is tight-lipped, her jaw clenched as she closes his file. “We’re very sorry for the rough time you’ve been going through.” Shane stares at his hands folded in his lap. It’s easy to imagine this is a dream, that the whole past two years were. “However, due to your inability to pay tuition and your failure to reach the minimum grade point average, we have to ask you to leave Ferngill University. Please remove your things and leave the institution by this time tomorrow.”

He’s barely there, barely listening. “Yeah. Okay.” He’d downed four cans of beer that morning, mind fogged enough not to care. He avoids her sympathetic gaze; it stings. Her office is empty. Barren. It’s like a wasteland, where dreams come to die. At least, where his did. But maybe it died long before here, before this moment.

“I’d like you to state that you understand that you must vacate the premises as soon as possible.”

“I understand that I must vacate the premises as soon as possible.” His tongue feels swollen in his mouth

“Very good.” His advisor pushes a manila folder toward him. “This is a copy of your transcript, should you ever need it.”

Shane takes the folder and stands, pushing the chair back harshly behind him. On his way to the door he drops the folder into the trash.

He trips on his way back to the dorm. His knee gives out and he is sprawling, falling flat on his chest, barely bracing enough to protect his head. He lays there for a moment, caught up in the feeling. He knows, somewhere deep down, that he should feel something. Pain, embarrassment, something. There’s nothing but indifference, the passing thought that he’s still not used to his new knee, still not used to the movements that trip it out.

“Hey, dude, are you okay?” There’s some bulging-eye freshman staring at him and he finally pushes up off of the ground.

“I’m fine.”

He’s back at the apartment before he’s sure that he’s breathed. It’s falling down all at once, the pain of his knee zinging up through his body to his chest. Everything is tight and his breathing is labored. He sits down on the floor, hugs his knees close to his chest, focuses on the pain, focuses on the tangible feelings.

It’s not long before he schools himself back to composure, shakes out the tension, expels it with pure will. He starts to put his stuff in duffle bags and trash bags without thinking. Pillow, duffle bag. Textbooks, trash. Clothes, duffle bag. Gridball jersey, trash. Shoes, duffle bag. Photos, trash. Photos, trash. Photos, trash.

He reaches for something on a shelf a little out of reach, stretches up to grab it. His knee buckles beneath him. It all crests again and expels in heavy sobs. They’re guttural and harsh and so unlike his practiced apathy.

His roommate gets off of his bed, kneels on the floor next to him. His had is gentle, tentative. Shane can feel his discomfort, his hesitancy, but it doesn’t quiet his crying. It only makes it worse. “Shane…” His roommate breaks off. “What’s wrong?”

Shane almost laughs. “I mean,” he hiccups, “what’s not?”

There’s nothing else to say and they sit on the floor like that. His roommate has nothing, but apologies and Shane has nothing but sobs.

Marnie’s is so soft. He hadn’t spent any time except Easter’s at the farm and it’s strange to be there now, another reminder of what he’s lost. He’s barely plopped his duffle on the mattress she’s set up for him when he cracks his first can.

Marnie is hovering at the door, trying not to worry but it’s written all on her face. It makes Shane sick. “Jas is here. I know she’d like to see you. She’ll be back by dinner.”

Jas. The thought of her, young and alone and heartbreaking makes him feel so sad it hurts. He can’t deal, doesn’t want to. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “No. I won’t be here.”

He brushes past her to the kitchen, reaches his backpack propped on a chair at the table. His wallet is near the top, thin to the touch. It slips easily into his back pocket. “What do you mean no?” She’s almost whispering, scared to break something Shane isn’t sure is even together. “I’m making pepper poppers. Your favorite.”

It would be easy for him to just say yes. To sit at this table with Marnie and Jas and eat the food she’s made. But if he had to look at them, see the things he’s lost mirrored back in two sets of eyes, he wasn’t sure he could make it. “I’m going to the Saloon.”

Marnie bit her lip. “For how long?” She wants to ask more, wants to ask what’s happened, why he’s here, but she won’t. Part of him aches to tell her; she looks so much like his mother. He wants to tell her that he fucked up. He went to college and everyone died. He couldn’t cope. He drank. He fucked up his knee. Fucked up his scholarship. Fucked up his life.

He almost tells her to send him away. Wants to give her warning. He’s scared he’s going to fuck this up too, fuck them up. Ruin things for Marnie. For Jas.

“Don’t know.” He’s out the door before she can press further.

The walk to the Saloon is shorter than her remembers. His shirt itches at the collar and he scratches near the tattoo, the three. He thinks it should be a one now. One left. Maybe Marnie and Jas could be his new three.

The graveyard is right there on the way in. The two new plots have young, downy tufts of grass sprouting up on the freshly packed earth. The one to the left is older, but not yet decayed by time and weather. His footsteps fall quietly in the dusk. He kneels on the ground, presses the dirt into his knees.

The two new stones were dated two months ago, the third a year and a half ago. It hurt all the same. He hasn’t seen them since the funeral. Not since he held Jas and they lowered the coffins into the ground, covered them in the ground. He had to bite his cheek, stop himself from crying out.

He could almost feel Jas’ tears on his neck. Mother and father gone in one day. Grandmother gone the year before. He couldn’t imagine how alone she felt, how large the loss was for her.

The Saloon wasn’t far off. A few more feet and he could forget for a while.

The swirling old wood of the bar is familiar. He used to sit and drink water with his parents, with Marnie. His stomach was heavy as he waited to order something else.

“How can I help you?”

His head shoots up. It’s not the jovial, tenor voice of Gus, but instead something feathery and light. It’s Emily.

She’s beautiful now, her hair almost navy. Her blouse is tight, loose, hanging off her nipples and her lips are painted the same red as the top. His eyes are caught somewhere between her eyes and her chest and his heart hammers heavy in his throat.

“Can I have something to drink?”


End file.
